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Savitri, H96 Op 25

Introduction

Although Savitri is rightly considered to be Holst’s first successful opera, its success was only achieved after at least six earlier attempts at the medium: opera clearly obsessed Holst in his early years. He spent much of his time as a student reading and listening to the music of Wagner. In Imogen Holst’s words, ‘He ate and drank Wagner and took in huge draughts of Wagner with every gasp of air he breathed’.

The small scale of Holst’s earliest works for the stage—several unadventurous, though competent, operettas after the Sullivan model—soon gave way to more ambitious plans. The culmination was Sita (1900–06), whose three acts are in the grandest, most extravagant style, and whose musical language is, for the most part, saturated with Wagnerisms.

Yet by 1908, when Sita was eventually awarded Third Prize in the Ricordi competition for which he had entered it (the work was never performed), Holst had composed Savitri, and with it he completely turned his back on the whole Wagnerian apparatus. The opera is in one act with no overture; no curtain is required; there are only three characters; the plot is of the utmost simplicity; and the orchestra consists of no more than twelve musicians.

This revolution in Holst’s approach to opera can partly be explained by the subject. In Sita he had turned to the great Hindu epic, the Ramayana, and had tried to enter into its world of spirits and demons, gods and mortals—a world not far removed from Wagner’s ‘Ring’. In choosing Savitri, an episode from another great classic of Sanskrit literature, the Mahabharata, Holst found a subject that was still epic in its scope—the triumph of love over death—but whose setting was simple and homely. He responded with music of equal simplicity. Although in the final scene of Sita Holst had already begun to find his own voice and had shown that he was capable of expressing emotion with a telling economy of means, this new directness of Savitri is a remarkable achievement.

The opening of the work is like no other opera. The voice of Death is heard in the distance, summoning Satyavan, the husband of Savitri. Savitri herself joins Death in counterpoint (not dialogue), and their voices remain unaccompanied for fully three minutes.

When Satyavan sings of maya—illusion—his voice is set against the remote sound of a wordless female chorus. Their voices symbolize the divine world interacting with the mortal; they are heard again when Death reappears to claim Satyavan. They join too with Savitri as she rejoices in her victory over Death, who has yielded to Savitri’s plea that her life cannot be complete without Satyavan. And the opera ends as it began, with the voices of Death and Savitri, the one returning to his kingdom, the other—the ‘glorious woman’ as Death calls her—singing in quiet ecstasy of her love for her husband.

DEATH (unseen): Savitri! Savitri! I am Death. I am the law that no man breaketh; I am he who leadeth men onward; I am the road that each must travel; I am the gate that opens for all. I, the Summoner, whom all obey, Whose word may not be moved, Whose path may not be turned, I draw nigh to fulfil my work.

(Savitri enters. She is holding her hands to her ears as if to shut out the sound of the voice)

I come for thy husband. For him the gate doth open.

SAVITRI (almost in a whisper): Again those words of dread. Day or night, they never leave me. Once in dreams I heard them, but now they rob me of sleep and give instead the gloom of ghostly fears and dread forebodings. Within the house that voice of warning lurks in ev’ry corner. Within the temple it enshrouds me until the song of thousands is to me a thing of naught.

DEATH (his voice grows more and more distant): Savitri! I am Death. I am the law that no man breaketh; I am he who leadeth men onward; I am the road that each must travel; I am the gate that opens for all.

SAVITRI: And here the earth itself doth fade. Naught remains but that dread cry. ‘I come for thy husband!’ For Satyavan. He, the strong and fearless one in whose hands an axe is a feather. He in whom I live, whose soul dwells in mine, ‘for him the gate doth open’.

SATYAVAN (in the distance): Greeting to thee, my loving Savitri! What wife in all the world is like to Savitri?

SAVITRI: Satyavan! Here I await thy coming. Haste to me!

SATYAVAN (gradually approaching): Like a spectre of the forest, night’s gloomy pall is drawing nigh. Every beast is wending homeward, home to his nest each bird doth fly. So to thee I am returning. Through the wood I homeward hie, home unto thee, my loving Savitri. What wife in all the world is like to Savitri?

(He enters)

Ah! The trees, that stand so proudly, know not I bring their deadly foe. ’Tis mine axe, that, stealing near them, with but one stroke could lay them low.

(He throws down his axe)

Farewell, friend, until the morn. To a fairer love I go. Greeting to thee, my loving Savitri! What wife in all the world is like to Savitri? But thou art pale and trembling. What ails thee?

SATYAVAN: It is maya! Dost thou not know her? Illusion—dreams—phantoms. But, to the wise, maya is more. Look around: all that thou see’st, trees and shrubs, the grass at thy feet, all that walks or creeps, all that flies from tree to tree, all is unreal, all is maya. Our bodies, our limbs, our very thoughts. We ourselves are slaves to maya. What remaineth? Who can say?

SAVITRI (bending over him): I am with thee; my arms are round thee. Thy thoughts are mine; my spirit wells with thee. When thou art weary, I am watching. When thou sleepest, I am waking. When in sorrow, I am near, making it a thing of joy beyond all other joys.

(Death is ever drawing nearer)

Through the forest creeps the darkness. All is dark and cold and still. The world has now become a grave. I alone am living, and over me the gloom is pressing. Like to a babe in his mother’s robe, thou art enshrouded in my love. With my song I weave a spell. Evil powers may not approach within the hearing of my voice. Only the gods may enter here in holiness and love.

DEATH: Thine is the holiness. Thou art enshrouded in thyself. The faces are the sufferers thou best comforted; the voices are the sweet words thou has spoken; the air is made holy by thy love. Being with thee is being in Paradise. With thee the gods themselves may dwell.

SAVITRI: Then enter, Lord; dwell with me! What better fate befalleth than being with the Holy Ones?

DEATH: That may not be. I am he who leadeth men onward. Yet, ere I go, to thee, who dost not shrink from me, who badest me welcome, I will grant a boon: a boon for thyself. Ask naught for Satyavan. My breath hath chilled his heart.

SAVITRI: O Great One! Dost thou mock? What boon hath value if I have not him who maketh all a boon?

DEATH: Then I tarry no longer. Through the gate a mortal enters. Bid thy farewell.

SAVITRI: Stay! Grant me this boon! ’Tis but slight. Yet all it holdeth. Give me life! Life is all I ask of thee. ’Tis a song I fain would be singing. Thy song, O Death, is a murmur of rest.

Mine should be of the joy of striving. Where disease hath spread her mantle; where defeat and despair are reigning, there should my song. Like a trumpet in battle, resound in triumph. Grant me this boon! I ask for life.

DEATH: Why dost thou ask for life? Thou hast it now.

SAVITRI: Art thou The Just One? Art thou Death? Or art thou but a blind spirit, knowing naught of what is round thee? Give me life! Life is all I ask of thee. And life is a path I would travel, wherein flowers should spring up around me. Stalwart sons whom I would send where fighting is fiercest; bright-eyed daughters following my path, carrying life on through the ages. Thou, O Death, workest alone. Through thy gate, lonely and desolate, man must go. But Life is communion; each one that liveth, liveth for all. Thou art for the moment, a portal soon passed; but life is eternal, greater than thou. Like bounteous rain, he showers his gifts on us; like an o’erwhelming wind he urges us on ‘til time and space are forgot; And joy and sorrow are one!

DEATH: Savitri, glorious woman! Take the gift thou hast asked! Life is thine in all its fullness; thine the song, the path of flow’rs.

SAVITRI: Ah! Death, The Just One, whose word ruleth all, grants me a boon. He giveth me life, the life of woman, of wife, of mother. So hath he granted that which alone fulfils his word. If Satyavan die, my voice is mute; my feet may never travel the path. Then I were but a dream, an image, floating on the waters of memory. Satyavan only can teach me the song, can open the gate to my path of flow’rs, the path of a woman’s life. Away, Death! Back to thy kingdom, alone must thou travel, true to thy word.

SATYAVAN: Savitri! Is it thou? I thought there was a stranger here who threatened.

SAVITRI: One hath been here; a Holy One who blessed me.

SATYAVAN: Then it was but a dream! Yea, so too was my weariness. Maya had seized me; I was her slave. Now hath she fled. Naught remains but thou and thy love. Thou alone are free from maya: Thou alone art real.

(He stands)

SAVITRI: Without thee I am as the dead. A word without meaning. Fire without warmth. A starless night. Thou makest me real. Thou givest me life. When thou art weary, I am watching; when thou sleepest, I am waking; when in sorrow, I am near, making it a thing of joy beyond all other joys.

DEATH (in the background): Unto his kingdom Death wendeth alone. One hath conquered him. One knowing life. One free from maya; maya who reigns where men dream they are living; whose power extends to that other world where men dream that they are dead. For even Death is maya.

SAVITRI (in the distance): I am with thee, my arms around thee; thy thoughts are mine, my spirit dwells with thee. When thou art weary, I am watching; when thou sleepest, I am waking. When in sorrow, I am near, making it a thing of joy beyond all other joys.